Truth or Dare
by curtaincall2
Summary: Jake and Amy have drinks after work, and play some stupid games.


It was almost one in the morning, and what had started as after-work drinks with the Nine-Nine had trickled down to just Santiago and Peralta, trading barbs over his beer and her gin-and-tonic.

"Hey, Amy," Jake said suddenly, "wanna play Truth or Dare?"

"Absolutely I do not. We're not twelve-year-olds at a slumber party."

"Like you ever got invited to any slumber parties."

"Touché."

"No, for real, though, come on. It'll be fun."

"I'm terrible at coming up with questions," Amy protested. "I'll just end up asking you what's your favorite vegetable, or something stupid like that."

"Ketchup," Jake said immediately.

"Not a vegetable."

"Is so! It has tomatoes."

"They're a fruit."

"According to who?"

"The Supreme Court."

"Whatever. All right, you suck at Truth or Dare. How about Fuck, Marry, Kill?"

"All right," said Amy, letting a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "Um. Jennifer Lopez, Jennifer Lawrence, Jennifer Aniston."

"Fuck J-Lo, marry J-Law, kill Aniston. Easy. Your turn. Godzilla, Mothra, Predator."

"What? No fair. I gave you good options!"

"Your mistake."

"All right, pass."

"You can't pass."

"Can too."

"Fine. But you have to do this next one."

"Fine."

"The men of the Nine-Nine."

"Present company excepted?" It was out before she had a chance to think it over.

"Present-well, yeah! I'm not letting you kill me!" He paused for a second and tilted his head to look at her. "You were gonna kill me, right?"

"Sure," said Amy, but, strangely, that hadn't been what she was thinking. "Sure. Okay. Fuck Terry (even though it feels so wrong being a homewrecker!), marry Captain Holt, kill Hitchcock or Scully. Or both."

"You want to marry Holt? He's gay!"

"People have made that work before!"

"I can't believe you."

"Still better than Godzilla."

"I'm imagining you married to Holt, now, though. And, like, you're too scared to talk to him so nothing gets done around the house. I kinda want to see it now."

"All right, your turn. Ladies of the Nine-Nine. Turning the tables."

"Present company excepted?"

"Like I'd let you kill me after I was denied that pleasure."

"Oh, Amy. I wasn't going to kill you."

"Shut up." But she was blushing a bit, she could feel it, and she hoped he'd write it off as just the alcohol. Because Jake flirted with everyone, and so when he said things like that to her, it didn't mean anything. Right?

"Okay. Well, fuck Rosa, obviously."

"Obviously?"

"She's a hottie."

"Okay, granted. But I'd be scared. She probably likes really weird stuff, with, like, leather and whips."

"I'd be down for that."

"You would not."

"You don't know what I like, Santiago."

"Okay, fuck Rosa, then what?"

"There aren't enough women," Jake whined. "I'm gonna have to include you. You and Gina."

"All right," Amy said, resigned. "Kill me and marry Gina."

"Like hell I'm marrying Gina! I'm marrying you."

"Aw, thank you so much. I'm so very touched that you chose to marry me in this stupid game."

"I wanted to play Truth or Dare."

"Okay, let's play Truth or Dare, if you're so excited for it. I pick Dare."

"Aah! All right. You're gonna regret this choice, you know."

"I already am."

"Okay, dare, dare, dare...what would Amy hate to do, I wonder?"

"Hurry up."

"All right," said Jake. "You see that guy coming out of the men's room? I dare you to go up to him and pretend you're his long-lost lover. And I don't want you half-assing it, either, or we're gonna have to have a do-over."

"Fine." She got up, shot Peralta a belligerent glance over her shoulder, and sashayed over to the potbellied, backwards-baseball-cap-wearing fifty-year-old who'd been designated as her target.

"Hello, tiger," she purred, pretending she was back onstage in her high school's production of Our Town, trying to forget that Jake was twenty feet away and watching her every move.

"Do I know you?" the guy asked, blinking slowly.

"Oh, honey," Amy said in her fake-sexy voice (why was her fake-sexy voice always vaguely Southern?), "don't you remember me? I'll give you a hint. I gave you the best night of your life."

"Yeah, whatever," he said, and edged away.

"Man, that was disappointing," Jake said, once she had returned to their table. "A for effort, though, Santiago. As always."

"All right, your turn."

"Truth!"

"Seriously? You know I suck at Truths."

"Yup."

"Um, um, oh! What was the last movie that made you cry?"

"Back to the Future. Next."

"Wait, Back to the Future?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine, geez! My turn. Truth."

"How'd you lose your virginity?"

Amy raised her eyebrows. "How mature."

"You have to answer."

"Senior year. To the debate team captain. After prom."

"After prom? Oh, Amy. So young, and yet already so cliched."

"Laugh all you like," Amy said indifferently. "At least I didn't freak out and run away after getting to third base with a cheerleader."

"Holy-who told you that? Boyle? Who told you?"

"I don't reveal my sources."

"Goddamnit. Whatever."

"Why do you care so much? It's a stupid story, but you were seventeen. So what if you were kind of an idiot? Trust me, you've done way more embarrassing things."

"Yeah. I just didn't-"

"What?"  
"I didn't want you to know about that."

Amy frowned. This was surprising, from Jake. She'd known him to laugh off sexual misadventures, to brag about impossible conquests in his half-joking tone: but reticence, and shame, was new.

"This," she said shakily, "has taken a turn for the serious."

"Well, can you blame me? For being pissed that a cute girl knows about the worst fucking moment of my life?"

"Was it really that bad?" Amy caught herself before blurting out her next question. You think I'm cute?

"It was like...I hate not knowing what I'm doing, you know? And, I mean, my dad wasn't around, it wasn't like my mom was going to provide a guide to bumping uglies, I just, I freaked out."

"When did you lose your virginity? For real, I mean?"

"Not long after," Jake said with half a smirk. "Different girl. Same place under the bleachers."

"Oh, okay, I did not need to know that."

"Can we-can we not talk about this again?"

Amy smiled. "It's a deal. Anything to get that image out of my mind."

"What image? Me? Me having sex? The sweat on my brow? My raw masculinity?"  
"Okay, time to go home."

"Oh, but Amy, tell me more about this image! Am I naked? I bet I'm naked. I bet you're scared of how attracted you are to me."

"You wish," she said, standing up. "And we have to be at work in six hours, and this bar is closing. I'm going."

"All right," Jake answered, at last modulating his tone, and smiled at her in a way he'd only smiled at her a few times before, the way that made him look older, and almost handsome. "Goodnight, Peralta."

"Goodnight, Santiago."

Amy was pretty sure the warm feeling that stayed inside her as she walked home was just the alcohol. But it might have been something else.


End file.
